We cut to backstage in front of a large PRIME-branded backdrop. FLAMBERGE is pacing back and forth, close to legit mouth-frothing. Rather than his wrestling gear,
FLAMBERGE: BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD EST LE PLUS GROS BÉBÉ DE TOUT PRIME!!
He wipes his face with his palm and slows down his pacing.
FLAMBERGE: This was the FLAMBERGE’S TIME, Youngblood! After the match of the night after the match of the night after the feud of the year after ANOTHER match of the night, the Kid found his way by the hook or by the crook into championship gold, and YOU, THE BABY, COULD NOT ACCEPT THIS. I had plans, dick! Des ballons! Cakes! Fireworks! The Confetti! DO YOU REALIZE THE LOGISTICS??…fine. Ceci aussi devrait passer. Sais-tu ce qui me met en colère? Do you know what makes the FLAMBO this way?
The Frenchman leans in.
FLAMBERGE: It has always been the easy for you – when the PRIMEates and the bootlickers in the back said the Hail Caesar, Long Live The Suplex Papa – to sit upon your little balsa wood perch and rain down your little Fake-Toughie Weewee And The Vinegar at the wrestlers like me who are not impressed by your brand name. What have you accomplished since I entered your world, you Babble Tower? Who are you in PRIME, now that I have fully, TRULY arrived?? YOU’RE NOBODY! PERSONNE! And you resent me for your failings so much that you must steal the glory that is not yours, all while the Driest Tongue in PRIME from all his bootlicking, the bitch Nate Colton, sits on the ground next to your table for the scraps.
FLAMBERGE snorts uncomfortably loudly and hawks up a big ol’ loogie onto the floor. Sorry, MGM Grand custodial staff.
FLAMBERGE: So listen to me, you son of the bitch…you have the two choices. I’m here, Youngblood. I’m here in Las Vegas, and I’m not playing the hard to get – SURRENDER TO ME my Five Star Championship that I rightfully conquered from that tumbleweed Rezin, or you will WISH I was just the wide-eyed boy pulling on ropes pour la chance that you so desperately wish I am.
“HEADS UP! MAKE WAY! COMIN’ IN HOT!”
The sound of rolling caster wheels catches the young Frenchman’s attention, and he notices something quickly approaching. A nonchalant step over to the side helps him avoid an incoming shopping cart barrelling out of control into the shot. It comes to a halt when it crashes headfirst into the wall and send its “pilot” careening into the concrete.
FLAMBO releases an annoyed groan, knowing that instead of getting the man he called out, he now has to endure this Goat Bastard. Rezin croaks in pain from the floor, but nevertheless fights through it as he pushes the cart off of him and stumbles back to his feet.
Rezin: (rubbing his head) Slow your role there, FLAMBURGLAR! Or as they say from your neck of the woods… ralentis ton croissanwich!
FLAMBERGE opens his mouth to speak, perhaps to correct his French, but shuts it as soon as Rezin’s filthy palm appears inches from his face.
Rezin: Now, I know what you’re gonna say! In fact, I know how this whole confrontation you’re baitin’ us into is gonna shape out! Which is exactly why I’m here!
His crazed grin finds the camera. FLAMBO rolls his eyes, deciding to himself if he should choke out this maniac now or later.
Rezin: See, I went ahead and created an artistic dramatization of how all of this is likely gonna play out, just to save us all the time of having to sit through it! Let’s roll the tape!
He snaps to someone off camera.
Rezin: Hit it, Jerry!
Production Assistant: But my name is Paul!
Rezin angrily shakes his fist at the voice.
Rezin: GODDAMBIT JUST PLAY THE TAPE BEFORE I COME OVER THERE AND HIT YOU!!
It begins with a black screen, followed by the following caption:
A COMPLETELY TRUE AND FACTUAL DRAMATIZATION OF COMPLETELY TRUE AND FACTUAL EVENTS
Amazingly, none of the letters are backwards. You owe someone ten bucks.
From there, it fades into the inside of the MGM Grand, where ReVival 19 is about to start. But something looks…off. Let’s chalk it up to artistic license.
FLAMBERGE walks to the ring. He is mad and French. He has a microphone.
FLAMBERGE: Je suis le mad!
STUFF FOR THE STUFF GUY
This brings out Brandon Youngblood and his adorable new puppy, Nate Colton. Brandon has the Five Star Title over his shoulder. Nate starts barking at the camera, because he’s from Indiana and technology frightens him.
Brandon Youngblood: I understood what you said because I am mad and Canadian. You cost me my belt so I’m taking yours, neener neener.
FLAMBERGE cries, as he is powerless in the face of the double-neener.
Brandon Youngblood: I am the big bastard man and I will beat up everyone and win this belt for realsies at Colossus.
Nate Colton: *whines*
Brandon Youngblood: Yes, you too. I’m sad that I have to kill you already because you just got your shots.
Nate Colton walks to the corner of the ring and squats down, never breaking eye contact with Brandon.
Brandon Youngblood: No! Bad Nate!
FLAMBERGE: Ring is for the wrestling, not the pooping!
Rezin appears. He is wearing a monocle, but not where you think.
Rezin: My word. Gentlemen, it seems we are at an impasse. Allow me to settle this matter with my debate skills, which I learned while a professor at that greatest of educational institutions, Purdue.
He points at Nate Colton, who is still trying to poop.
Rezin: You will stop that at once. Sir, you are not a dog. You are a MAN, from the great state of Indiana!
The crowd cheers, because none of them have ever been to Indiana. Nate stops pooping and stands up.
Nate Colton: You’re right. I had forgotten myself, and have brought shame upon my homeland. I am sorry.
Rezin now looks at FLAMBERGE.
Rezin: And you, young man. Quit being so…French.
FLAMBERGE: Ik zal het in overweging nemen.
Rezin: And finally, Mister Youngblood.
Brandon wakes up. He often falls asleep when people are not yelling at him in French.
Rezin: I am aware that you are a big bastard man, but I regret to inform you that you shall not beat everyone up and win the Five Star Title for realsies at Colossus.
Brandon Youngblood: Yes I will! FOR. REALSIES.
Rezin: Rather, I will be the one winning the Five Star Title for realsies.
Brandon and FLAMBERGE can’t be mad at this statement, because they’re already mad. Nate Colton tries to get mad, but the only emotion he can handle is Indiana, so he just does more of that.
Brandon Youngblood: No! I want the title!
FLAMBERGE: I want the title!
Nate Colton: I want the title!
Stupid Dog: I want the toilet seat!
Twisted Sister: I WANNA ROCK!
As Twisted Sister starts playing, the four contenders squabble in the ring until separated by security.
Richard Parker: We did it! We solved all the world’s problems! SUCK IT, MEET THE PRESS!
Nick Stuart: And now, onto the next thing which is also very important.
The camera zooms out… revealing the ring to be of tiny scale, and the figures crashing into each other to be plastic action figures, clenched into the hands of none other than Rezin. The Escape Artist compliments the action with by making explosion noises with his mouth.
Rezin: CRRSSHH!! FWWOOOSSH!! BRRAAAGGHH!! GGRRRMMMSHH!!
He stops as soon as he notices the camera is on him, and smiles sheepishly.
Rezin: Ummm uhhhhhh… FORGET WHAT YOU SAW HERE!!
He darts out of the frame.
We cut back to Rezin and FLAMBO backstage, now in the flesh.
Rezin: Shit, I forgot to cut that part out…
FLAMBERGE: La poupée Geordi La Forge avec la boule de coton collée sur sa tête est-il censé être moi?
The young Frenchman starts self-consciously touching his hair.
Rezin: Thanks! I thought it was good too! But now hopefully you see my point, FLAMBO… this shit’s gonna devolve into absolute CHAOS one way or another! And when that happens, Brandon Youngblood is gonna be the LEAST of your worries when I come to take that belt back! And yeah, I’m sure you’re probably feelin’ pretty damb proud of yourself after knockin’ me off my throne two weeks ago! Ya earned it, kid, so savor the moment… cause NEXT TIME–NEGGZ THYME, FLAMBO–if you think I’m gonna roll over and let myself be choked out again, THEN LEMME TELL YA RIGHT NOW THAT I’M–BLEGHK!!
Rezin’s insane rant is cut short when FLAMBERGE swiftly snatches him by the beard and yanks him into the Marie Antionette!
The Five Star Champion cinches his forearm deep into the former champion’s neck while Rezin wildly thrashes in an effort to free himself… his flailing arms and legs growing ever slower and weaker as FLAMBO continues to choke him out… and finally, he goes limp.
FLAMBERGE: Au revoir, dickhead.
FLAMBERGE dumps Rezin’s unconscious husk back into the shopping cart in which he came and kicks it back down the hallway. Rezin rolls out of the shot with a prolonged snore.
FLAMBERGE: Maybe I will hunt down the Youngblood myself, instead.
FLAMBO strides in the opposite direction of the shopping cart.